Page 16 of The Earl's Reluctant Artist

The sky outside was a gloomy gray when Eliza walked into the servants’ quarters that morning.

The chatter and clatter stopped at once, and chairs scraped back, much to her surprise.

She stretched out her hand in a bid to stop them all, but it was too late.

Every servant had already risen to his or her feet.

“Good morning, my lady,” they said together.

She gave a gentle smile and lifted her hand again. “Please, sit. It was not my intent to interrupt your meal.”

They obeyed, though carefully, and returned to their food. The smell of bread and porridge filled her nostrils as she stepped forward and let her eyes settle on the housekeeper. Mrs. Yarrow stood at the end of the table, her back as straight as ever.

“Everything is well this morning, Mrs. Yarrow?” Eliza asked.

“Could not be better, my lady,” the woman responded.

“Good. Then, if it will not be any trouble, may I borrow Rose for a moment?”

Mrs. Yarrow nodded. “Certainly.”

Rose jumped from her seat, nearly knocking her chair back. “Of course, my lady.”

“It is only for a moment,” she said, her voice still apologetic as the maid followed her outside into the hallway.

Once the door closed behind them, Eliza pulled a folded letter from her pocket. “I wonder if you could help me post this.”

Rose took it with care. “Of course, my lady.”

“It is for my friend Clara,” Eliza explained. “I am sure you have noticed as well, but I have been … rather lonely here. I thought I would write to her. If only to ask her to visit me. Or at the very least, write back.”

Rose’s smile was warm. “I will make sure it is posted right away, my lady.”

“Thank you, Rose,” Eliza said softly.

Rose curtsied and tucked the letter into her apron. Eliza gave a small nod before turning back down the hall.

Halfway along, she saw Gideon walking toward her. He held a stack of papers under one arm, moving quickly but neatly.

“Mr. Hale,” she called.

He stopped at once and bowed, a ghost of a smile on his face. “Good morning, my lady.”

“I was just coming from the servants’ hall. Is there a reason why you are not eating with the others?” she asked.

“His lordship required an early departure,” Gideon said. “I had to prepare him.”

Her breath caught. “Wait … he is gone?”

“I am afraid so, my lady.”

“Wonderful,” she whispered to herself before looking back up at Gideon, her voice softening. “Do you know when he will return?”

“I cannot say yet because he went to collect a few things. But I do not expect he will be away long.”

Eliza pressed her lips together, then nodded. “Thank you, Mr. Hale.”

“Always, my lady.”

He moved on, and Eliza continued up to her room, though slower now. Her thoughts felt heavy and her steps unsteady. She had thought she could catch Tristan that morning and ask what Marcus had wanted.

In her chamber, she closed the door and walked to the table by the window.

The portrait she had been working on lay there, and she lifted it carefully.

The woman’s faint eyes seemed to meet hers through the aging the picture had gone through.

It felt almost like the more she stared at the woman in the portrait, the more she wanted to know about her.

It was exhilarating to say the least, having to repair a face she knew nothing about. She was still examining the painting when a knock came at the door.

“Yes?” she called.

The door opened, and Rose stepped in, curtsying. “My lady.”

Eliza put the portrait down. “Is something wrong?”

Rose shook her head. “Not at all. I only wanted to tell you that your letter has been posted.”

Eliza smiled faintly. “Thank you, but you did not need to come all the way up here for that.”

Rose stepped closer and held out an envelope. “That is not the only reason. A letter arrived for you as well.”

Eliza frowned, taking it. The handwriting tugged at her memory. She shrugged it off and read the name on the seal instead.

Marcus Harwood

Her heart stirred as she broke it open. The words were simple, polite, and direct. Eliza could feel Rose’s eyes on her as she took in each sentence in the letter.

Eventually, Rose tilted her head. “Bad news?”

Eliza shook her head slowly. “No. Only an inquiry. My brother wants to know if all is well.”

Rose’s face brightened. “How thoughtful. It must be nice to know he cares enough to ask.”

Eliza gave a short laugh. “Well, I do not think I would say care exactly. More likely, he wants to keep his new status as an earl’s in-law, and this was his way of ensuring I was fine, I suppose. It is quite fascinating because the last time he was here, he would not even look at me.”

Rose shrugged. “Perhaps your brother is coming around.”

Eliza scoffed as she folded the letter and set it down. “A leopard has a better chance of changing its spots.”

Rose smiled. “Shall I leave you to your work, my lady?”

She turned, but Eliza called softly, “Wait.”

Rose paused.

“How quickly could you fetch the colors I need from the market?”

Rose’s face lit up. “Very quickly, my lady. Absolutely.”

Eliza smiled back. “Good. Please see to it.”

Rose curtsied again, still smiling, and left.

Eliza sat alone once more. She picked up the portrait again and turned it toward her, running her fingers along the cracked surface.

Soon, she would have her colors. Soon, she could properly bring life back to the woman’s eyes. This woman, who still remained as mysterious as anything.

However, the thought of Marcus returned, sharp and unwelcome. His visit, his silence, the way he had walked past her without a word.

She picked up his letter again, holding it in her palm and reading through it once again.

If she could not find answers yet, she would at least find peace in paint. The woman in the portrait, once forgotten, would have her voice again.

At the very least, in a way.

***

The warmth of the afternoon sun she had found was a source of serenity for her rather than a gross inconvenience.

The way the light shone across the subjects and reflected their beauty back to her in the most fascinating way often provided all the focus she could ever need. Rose was yet to return from the market with the colors so, for now, she had decided to sketch some of the things she might paint later.

Pale lilies rose from the paper in quiet waves, their petals unfolding under her hand.

Her focus was complete. She leaned closer, the tip of her tongue brushing her lip as she worked at the finer details. The peace surrounding her was enough to keep her going for a long time.

This was the kind of environment she had always wanted. One that gave her inner resolution. An environment so peaceful, she was certain nothing or no one could ruin, or even try to ruin, her focus.

“Hello.”

Her hand jerked, and the pencil slipped, cutting an ugly mark across her page. Eliza gasped and let the book fall to her lap. Her face was white as snow when her eyes darted up.

Tristan stood just a few steps away, his face, she could see, on the edge of breaking into a smile.

“You…” she yelped, her breath caught as her pencil fell from her grip and rolled across the ground.

He bent quickly and grabbed it. Eliza watched him with keen interest as he rose to his feet one more time and began to laugh. Not the faint, tight sound she sometimes heard from him, but a quiet, almost boyish laugh.

A most genuine one.

“Oh well,” she said, trying to catch her breath. “I am glad I was enough of a source of entertainment for you this afternoon, Tristan.”

He still chuckled as he handed the pencil back. “Forgive me, but your face…it went completely white. I cannot seem to stop seeing it in my head.”

She frowned, though her cheeks warmed. “Well, it would. Because you frightened the blood out of me. How long were you standing there anyway?”

“A few minutes,” he responded. “You were so focused that you did not notice I had been studying you for a while.”

Her brow arched. “Studying me?”

He nodded once, then hesitated. “Yes. It is quite uncanny, just how much you remind me of my…” His voice trailed off, and he looked away.

“Reminded you of your what?” she pressed.

He cleared his throat. “We should change the subject.”

She narrowed her eyes but let it pass. “Very well. What shall we speak about then? Perhaps you would like to discuss how Aunt Evelyn stopped by earlier and said she half expected me to draw goblins or lizards next.”

Tristan exhaled through his nose, a sound halfway between amusement and irritation. “My aunt does say whatever comes into her head, without much care for how it sounds. But she means well…most of the time.”

“Most of the time?” Eliza echoed, smiling faintly.

“Believe me when I say this, Eliza,” he said dryly, “that is the best you will ever get from her.”

Eliza laughed, the tension in her shoulders reducing. She bent to look at her page again, brushing the stray mark with her finger.

Tristan tilted his head. “Your sketches are quite … intricate. I had not expected such detail.”

She looked up, surprised by the quiet compliment. “Thank you.”

“You also do not have to worry about using the garden for much longer. The atelier should be finished in two days,” he added. “Then you will have the proper space for all of this.”

She felt her chest lift. “That is wonderful. Thank you again.” She hesitated, then said, “I wrote a letter inviting my friend Clara to visit. I hope you do not mind.”

“Not in the least,” he replied without pause.

Eliza smiled, relieved. “Good. I miss her company.”

Her words seemed to remind him of something. He straightened a little. “That does bring another matter to mind. A close friend of mine, Sir Gordon, has invited us to a garden party. I meant to tell you before your brother arrived yesterday.”

Her eyes widened. “A party?”

“Yes.”

She looked down at her plain dress and laughed softly. “I would not even know what to wear to something like that.”

Tristan’s lips tugged faintly, a very tiny smile resting on the edges of his face. “Do not worry. I am sure the seamstress will whip up something suitable.”

“I hope so,” she said, half laughing again.

The silence that followed was far from uncomfortable. It was light. Perhaps just the lightest form of silence she had experienced with him so far.

“Well,” he said at last, clearing his throat, “I should return to my study. There are matters I must see to.”

She nodded. “Of course.”

He tilted his head slightly, then turned and walked back across the garden.

Eliza watched him go, her pencil still warm in her hand. A smile slowly crept over her lips. Perhaps she could grow used to this.

And maybe…just maybe, she could even learn to make a marriage of it.